New World
by Devastate
Summary: Based loosely on the concept of Fahrenheit 451... This was a school assignment, and as usual, I don't like it very much. :


**Part 1: A Thousand Years**

Rowan followed his brother through the narrow doorway, blinking to adjust his eyes to the dimness. The metal room before him glinted in the eerie candlelight. There were no windows, so the only sources of light were the tiny balls of flame along the sides of the room. The cold fire, dyed a misty orange, danced atop the softly simmering candles, barely illuminating a thousand square meters of dull gray tiles.

The floor was littered with wires and cables, each crawling from a spot in the giant tangle of them in the middle of the room to connect to a place in the wall under each candle, for there was a hard-backed metal chair under every light. Some were occupied, and some were not. Each occupied chair contained a man or woman in their twenties, each one of them wearing motorcycle helmets and not moving at all. They could have been made of wax.

Rowan could see now that the wires and cables all ended at the helmets. Though there were seat belts not unlike those of a car keeping the people seated —some of them were somewhat slumped— all the energy generated into the wires were used to power whatever each helmet held in the screen within its shield.

"Why would someone invite you here?" Rowan whispered. He didn't like the look of this place. Shadows stretched from every corner, and he had a feeling something was lurking there. Anyway— who were the people sitting in the chairs? They didn't look like they would be leaving anytime soon.

"I don't know." Rowan's brother, Marcus, answered just as quietly. "The letter was from Lucy, and it said she wanted to celebrate my twenty-first birthday here. All she said was there was no space for parking, not even for my bike, so I had to get someone to drive me here."

Lucy Swift was Marcus's girlfriend. They had met two years ago at college, and had begun dating in sophomore year. She was blonde and skinny and loved the sun. Even Rowan, who hardly knew her, knew she would never plan a celebration in an underground basement. If Lucy couldn't be found at a crowded party or dance club, she was probably taking a nap at a nude beach. But even though Lucy loved fun and sun, she had never shown interest in having a child with Marcus.

A sort of animal brushed against Rowan's leg. He looked down just in time to see the cat flee from the dark room, fur spiked up on its back.

"This is hardly the place for a party," Rowan murmured. He pointed out the cat to his brother, watching its gray-striped tail disappear up the rickety stairs behind them and out the open doorway, where a square of light was all that they could see of the world outside. "Let's just drive home. The traffic's already bad."

"Wait," a voice said. Rowan watched the smoky floor darken as a shadow entered the hall. He couldn't tell who it was, but it was a thin figure. She had long hair that shone from the sun behind her. "Sorry I'm late, Marc."

"It's okay," said Marcus. He seemed to be stumbling slow-motion toward the girl, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're here now."

"I am," Lucy said, rather coldly. She strode past Rowan and Marcus, casually flicking her spider-fingered hand behind her and pushing the door shut. A haunting echo ran through the room as it slammed. They were now in even deeper darkness. No light from the sun could penetrate the thick metal of the walls and door.

Rowan couldn't see Lucy as she walked about the room. He had no idea what she was doing; all he could hear was rummaging and frequent cussing.

"_Flick_," Lucy muttered. "_Damn. Shit. _Are there _no more _left? Are we letting them stay here too long?"

Finally she came back into their sight, holding a beer bottle, a candle, and another one of the motorcycle helmets. By its flickering light, Rowan could guess that neither the helmet nor the beer had been touched in ages. A tail of dusty gray wire trailed behind Lucy. "Here." She offered the bottle and the helmet to Marcus. "Take a drink first. Then sit down and put on the helmet. It's a new kind of reality video game."

Marcus eagerly took a swig from the bottle. Then, glancing at the helmet, he looked around uneasily. "What does it do? Couldn't you have come to my house for that?"

"No," Lucy told him. "They're testing this product. Only a select few are allowed to know about it." She looked disapprovingly at Rowan. "I suppose you had to bring your brother to drive you."

"Yeah," said Marcus. "But—"he gestured around —"What's _wrong _with all of them?"

"Nothing. They're playing," Lucy said breezily. "Try it out… for me?"

Marcus began approaching one of the chairs, flinching at the sight of the candle standing so close to the seat. "Okay, but only once."

"You'll like it," she insisted. "Put on the helmet. It's a motorcycle racing game."

Rowan looked on as his brother brightened—he loved everything to do with motorcycles. He watched with a bad feeling creeping up his spine as Marcus slid the helmet over his head. Lucy reached over and clicked the seat belt on.

Marcus was silent for a minute. After another two he began slumping down. The bottle of alcohol he still held fell to the floor with an echoing clanking sound, but didn't shatter. Finally the seat belt was the only thing keeping him from falling to the hard floor.

"What have you done?" Rowan cried. He tried to run to his brother, but Lucy held onto his arm with one hand, the other clutching the candle. He watched the flame shiver in time with his heart.

"Don't touch him," she warned. When he looked into her eyes, Rowan could not find any worry or doubt in them. She could have been watching a boring movie. It was as if this was her job, and she did it every day.

"What have you done?" Rowan repeated. "Get off me." But however hard Rowan fought, the easier it seemed to become for Lucy to hold him. She was skinny, and not at all muscular, while he worked out a few hours every day, but he could not break away.

"How old are you?" Lucy's tone was flat and indifferent, but her eyes were thoughtful. She seemed to be considering him.

Caught by surprise, Rowan answered her. "Seventeen."

Lucy paused. Was she wondering whether to let Rowan join his brother? Finally, she said, "Four more years until your turn, then." She let out her breath. "Go. Get out. If anyone asks, your brother ran away from home. You tried to stop him, but he still went."

"No," Rowan protested. "What will happen to him? What does the helmet do?"

A cold smile played across Lucy's face. "Come back in four years and find out."

"I'll find out now. Tell me!" Rowan shouted. He went to her and tried to grab her, but she pulled away easily. He tried a second time and managed to knock the candle from her hand.

The flame burst, and they both jumped back. A ring of fire was spreading between them. Almost carelessly, Lucy reached down, picked up Marcus's dropped beer bottle, and poured it over the flames. With a hissing sound, they evaporated.

Lucy turned slowly to face him, reaching into her pocket and easing out a small shotgun. "This may hurt a little," she said softly. She raised it. "Unless you leave and keep your mouth shut." When Rowan still didn't move, she tightened her finger around the trigger.

He turned and ran.

Rowan was lying on his bed in his high school dorm, a great stone hall with at least sixty beds and thirty bedside tables. It was late at night, but he couldn't sleep. He had barely closed his eyes since he had watched Marcus get—what? What exactly had happened to him?

_Killed? Put to sleep? Hooked on a game? _

He didn't know. At least he didn't have to explain to his parents. Fifty years ago, a decree had been put into place that required parents to give their children up to the authorities two months after birth, so they could be raised properly. Also, it was encouraged that couples either had no children or one child before age twenty, and then no more; families who did this were given special privileges in society, like first pick for jobs, homes, and cars. With such a densely populated society let to grow for so many years, those things were difficult to come by. Rowan and Marcus had both grown up in a boarding school society, going to boarding camp in the summer. Neither of them could remember anything about their parents.

"At age twenty-one..." Rowan heard someone mumble. He rolled his eyes. The teachers at his school did not like to teach, though they were forced to. An annual fail-proof polygraph test asked them if they had shared all the information on the curriculum to the students. Sometimes, if they let the students while away the time during class by talking to one another while they sipped their alcoholic drinks hidden in coffee cups, they would visit the dormitories at night and skim the topic in two minutes while the students slept and could not ask questions. Rowan had only discovered this occurrence since he began having difficulty sleeping a month ago. No one had ever mentioned it to him during the day.

Rowan normally tuned out anything the teachers told him, but this time, at the word 'twenty-one,' something made him keep listening.

"…best grades allowed to live… but these are few… D or F average killed at age twenty-one… B or C average put to sleep at age twenty-one… test at age thirty to deem worthiness for life... B or below on test means death…"

Rowan had to fight not to jump out of his bed. _What the hell? _He had always thought the decree on giving up children to the government was ridiculous, and he hated the early birth decree. He knew that, at one point, having children very early was discouraged, and the parents raised their own children. This was no more, and Rowan knew he could do nothing about it. But _this _was completely absurd. Maybe the world was overpopulating. Maybe the streets were clogged day and night. Maybe each of the two hundred underground dorm rooms in the local high school was crammed full. That didn't mean the authorities could _kill _people, especially based on grades.

"…lured to strategically placed hideouts… hired men and women to pose as potential spouses… exceptions at times…"

Rowan's heart leapt into his throat, and he had to bite his tongue not to choke and make a sound.

"…viewers of any of these events in the open are dangerous… will be killed at twenty-one regardless of grades… sooner if secret is released…"

"Happy birthday," Nathan said. He gestured to Rowan's birthday cake. Twenty-one golden candles burned on it. The thought of the dots of fire and the memory of Marcus made Rowan sick.

So did his age. He was supposed to die at twenty-one.

"Rowan?" Nathan was looking at him, puzzled. He gestured to the cake.

"Oh. Sorry," Rowan said to his friend. Whatever he feared, he had to try to act normal in front of him. He could not tell him what may have been in store for him; anyway, he himself was safer and better off not mentioning it at all. Nathan was a year younger than he was; they had met as fellow restaurant workers, neither having chosen to go to college. When Rowan had been fired for losing his temper with a stove, Nathan had followed him into the employ of a zoo. At this moment, the two were celebrating Rowan's birthday alone.

Nathan was not a normal man. He, unlike the majority of others, had been raised by his parents in a loving household. He had never slept in a school dorm, or sat through classes where nothing was taught. He had, however, studied. Both his parents had been excellent students when they were at school—in their day, things were still like it was now, but not so extreme. But however academic they were, they had never gotten mad at Nathan for not choosing the path of college.

Nathan had since lost contact with his parents; he'd received no calls or mail from them for months. He could not confirm it with reliable sources, but he was told by his bosses at the zoo that they had drowned when they decided to take a swim in the ocean that past winter.

"Happy birthday," Nathan told Rowan again. "Make a wish."

_Make a wish,_ Rowan thought. _Let Marcus come back safely. _

When Rowan half-heartedly blew at the candles, seventeen of them went out. He stopped dead, and then quickly faked a snort. "I'm a weakling," he laughed. He sent a stronger jet of air. This time three of the remaining four were blown out.

Nathan shook his head disbelievingly. Before he could speak again, Rowan blew out the last candle.

"You're twenty-one," Nathan said. "Barely. If you don't start improving your strength, you'll be stuck at twenty forever."

Rowan didn't tell him how welcome that would be. Instead he shook his head. "Want to go on a walk with me?"

"What about the cake? Want to eat some first?"

"You go on, if you'd like." At the moment, Rowan wanted nothing more than to get out into the clogged and crowded streets, to have something to distract him from the hole welling in his heart. Marcus's absence was stronger than ever. Rowan was now the same age Marcus had been when he'd gotten trapped in that underground room of candles. He was surprised to find that he did not care so much. Now that his brother, his only source of inside comfort throughout his years, was gone, there wasn't so much more to live for.

"Let's go," Nathan replied to him. "It's your birthday. You choose the party."

Rowan and Nathan walked side by side, or at least attempted to. The twelve-foot sidewalks were not enough to hold the amount of people jostling through them. There were lanes, but they were all ignored.

Soon enough, they had given up on walking together. Instead, Rowan kept a step behind Nathan. He was content to walk alone, drinking in the bliss of having no troubles, regrets, or worries filling the spaces in his mind. Now, everything in it was full of the honking of cars, roaring of engines, yells of passersby, and the stench of oil, trash, and the frequent farts of the people around him. Rowan followed Nathan almost with his eyes shut, dreading the moment when he would have to face everything again.

It could have been hours, or maybe a few minutes, before Nathan came to a stop. Opening his senses again, Rowan realized that there was much less traffic around him than there was before. The sky had darkened, and evening shadows threw half the things around him into shades of gray.

Nathan had halted in front of a door, a crumbling wooden door Rowan had seen once before.

Everything fell in place.

_This is the night. _

"Recognize this place yet?" Nathan asked. His eyes were gleaming.

Rowan didn't speak. Finally, he replied. "Yeah," he said coldly. "I know this place."

"Your brother's grave," Nathan said. His voice was suddenly like that of a snake, an icy hiss jarring Rowan to his bones.

"It won't be," Rowan retorted.

Nathan sniggered at that. "You're all so trusting. You believed everything I told you about me, even after you saw who Lucy was. They told me you might be able to guess if we sent a false spouse, so we used me. That worked well enough. Pitiful. You take every chance of another outcast friend you can get. They usually do drinking parties, get them drunk first, or maybe asleep, but you didn't seem like the type. I saw my chance when you asked me on a walk, after you didn't eat that poisoned birthday cake. You're stupid, Rowan, from your name to your actions. It's a shame you're so dumb."

"It's not," Rowan found himself saying. "No, I prefer it this way. How would I have had the strength to come back before? And now I can have my revenge as well." He felt anger running through his veins like hot bubbling blood. He wanted to do something. He wanted to hurt someone. But what could he do? Lucy had had a gun. Maybe Nathan did, too.

"Stupid, stupid." Nathan opened the door, and gestured for Rowan to enter it. He did. How could he help Marcus if he wasn't inside? The ache inside him for Marcus now that his brother was so close, yet so far away, made him fearless. He let his shoes click on the metal blocks that were the stairs and the metal planks that were the hallway as he made his way toward the candlelit room. Nathan followed, trying as little as Rowan to keep silent.

There were voices up ahead. There was already someone inside the room.

"Since your birthday is on Halloween, and I couldn't be there, I thought I'd give you a little substitute party. You can drink now that you're twenty-one, and…"

It was Lucy. She was back.

Now the other person replied. "I'm not sure. I didn't want to be a college drinker."

"Boys prefer girls who can drink," Lucy pressed. "Don't you want to have a child? Drinking to impress your dream guy is the first step."

Silence. The second girl seemed to be considering. _No, _Rowan pleaded silently with her. _Don't do it. _

"Minnie, come on," Lucy urged.

Without looking back at Nathan, Rowan ran forward. He heard an eerie echo that didn't seem to come from his feet pounding the floor. It was more like a song.

"Don't!" He gasped out loud as soon as he entered the room. He took in Lucy and another girl standing close to one of the chairs. Lucy held a beer bottle, and a helmet was at her feet. There was no candle this time. The other girl —Minnie— had her arms crossed in front of her as if she was cold. She was wearing simple clothes: dark blue jeans, sneakers, and a gray sweatshirt. She had light brown hair, and her eyes looked wise and sharp, like an owl's.

"Who are you?" Minnie stared at Rowan and Nathan, who had pushed him out of the way to stand by Lucy. She gave him a quick embrace, and he enthusiastically returned it to her.

"I'm Lucy's husband." Nathan answered first. Lucy rolled her eyes at him, but still smiled in spite of herself. "Nathan Swift."

When he saw Minnie looking at him, even though it was not a proper time for introductions, Rowan answered. "Rowan Allen," he muttered. "_Get out of here,_" he added in a lower whisper.

"I'm Minnie Pallas." She hadn't heard him.

_Stupid girl, run. You don't have business here. I do. _

"You need to get out of here," he told her, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Now."

"What?" Lucy said. "No, wait. If you don't like it here, Minnie, you can go soon. Just try out this game."

"Don't!" Rowan hissed.

"Do," Nathan corrected.

Minnie didn't move.

"Don't listen to them," Rowan told her. "They're not who you think they are. If this _piece of shit _has been pretending she's your friend, she was lying. She pretended to be my brother's girlfriend. And then she killed him." His voice cracked on the last word.

"I did not kill him."

"She as good as killed him." Rowan strode over to Marcus, not at all surprised he remembered exactly where he was. He didn't seem to have aged at all since four years before. "Look at Marcus now."

Minnie closed her eyes, and then opened them again. She flicked her gaze from Nathan, to Lucy, and finally to Rowan. He didn't look at her. He felt his heart pounding in his chest.

She turned and ran.

Rowan breathed out silent thanks to God, but he didn't keep the feeling long. Both Lucy and Nathan had moved to block the door. Now they formed a human blockade, keeping Minnie from leaving the room.

Rowan swore under his breath. They were stuck now. He wondered if Lucy still had her gun.

"You two…" Lucy was grinning widely. "I really don't like you two."

"You suck," added Nathan, flinching as Lucy frowned at him.

"The point is…" Lucy dropped her eyes from them long enough to reach for something in her jeans pocket.

Thirty seconds came and went. Finally, with several loud grunts, Lucy pulled something long and black from inside her pants, something worse than the shotgun she used to have.

It was a hunting rifle.

Though it was brown and rusted, Rowan had no doubt that it was loaded.

"What should your graves say?" Lucy mused. "Here lie the remaining body parts of Rowan, who knew more than was good for him. And here lies a bottle of the blood of Minnie, who screwed things up."

"Yeah," Nathan added.

"Shut up," Lucy said. She turned to Rowan and Minnie. "I've said this to Rowan, and I'll say it again for the both of you. This may hurt… just a little."

Rowan, inside his automatic hero mode, tried to throw himself in front of Minnie to protect her, but he wasn't fast enough. Before he had reached her, he heard a blast go off.

But it wasn't Minnie or him that got shot.

"AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Nathan screamed. "WHAT THE FLICK. NO, I AM NOT DYING HERE—"

Lucy stomped on his nose. Nathan stopped yelling.

She coughed. "Anyway, now that my shadow is not repeating any more of my words, it's your turn."

_Idiot, you killed the person that could have helped you kill us. _

But Lucy still had the rifle. If either he or Minnie tried to hit her, she could shoot them.

"Lucy, come on," Minnie pleaded. "What is all of this?"

Lucy smirked. "You're twenty-one, and you've been failing all your classes. You deserve to die."

"It wasn't on purpose! I couldn't concentrate on studying since my sister died."

"That's no excuse for failing," Lucy said. "If you cared about her so much, you would have been smarter, and found out a way to avenge her death. Now you're just going to follow her."

"No," said Minnie. "I'm not dying here. This can't be the end."

Rowan caught Minnie's eye. _When I tell you to go, _he tried to communicate to her. _Attack her. _

When Minnie nodded the slightest bit, he knew she understood.

"So, you killed your husband," Rowan stalled. "Why'd you marry him in the first place?"

Lucy snorted. "It was only because they recommended we marry within our occupation. We're allowed to live longer, so they couldn't have our spouses dying left and—"

"Now!" Rowan shouted.

Both he and Minnie leapt forward. Rowan was surprised at how brave the girl was. She was leaping into danger when she'd just had sudden truth forced onto her shoulders. Minnie reached Lucy first, and he could see anger and hate in her eyes as she tried to wrestle the rifle from her grip. Rowan joined the fray, trying to injure Lucy enough to make her let go of the gun.

A sudden shot went off.

"No," Minnie whispered. "I didn't want this."

Lucy was on the ground now, but neither Rowan nor Minnie was holding her. A steady puddle of blood was pooling around her, and they watched, entranced by the scene. Her hair, matted and soaked, seemed to sway from a whispering breeze. She was screaming, and then she fell still.

She was dead.

Looking back on it later, Rowan was surprised he ignored Lucy's body to hurry to Marcus. He pulled the helmet off his head, not minding the cobwebs and dust on the cool plastic.

Marcus's eyes were open, but they weren't focused. He reached down to undo the seat belt, but he did it like a zombie.

"Marcus?" Rowan said softly.

"Rowan. Where's Lucy? Aw, I can't believe I drank that beer. I just remembered I'd promised myself to keep off it."

_Why does he have to be so happy? Now I'm going to have to make him depressed by telling him his girlfriend was evil, and now dead. _

"Where's Lucy?" Marcus asked again.

Rowan hopelessly gestured to Lucy's body.

"WHAT THE FLICK!" Marcus yelled. "WHO DID THAT? I'LL KILL THEM."

Rowan sensed Minnie shivering behind him.

"Lucy did it to herself," he said quickly.

"She– she committed suicide?" Marcus's voice was shaking. "Why?"

"I don't know. I never knew Lucy that well."

Marcus shook his head. "Why here? Why now? On my birthday, too."

"It, um, isn't your birthday," Rowan said awkwardly. "You've been, uh… _sleeping _for about four years."

Marcus looked dumbfounded. "You're not kidding. I know you. You wouldn't joke about something like this. I'm going crazy, aren't I?"

"No," Rowan cried. "No one's crazy except for Lucy."

"I'm crazy," Marcus repeated.

He turned tail and ran from Rowan and Minnie, whom he had not even noticed.

"Oh, _God. _Where the hell is he going?" Rowan muttered. "I'm not following him. I hope he goes home. Oh, shit… Oh, shit, shit, shit. What have I just done?"

"Come on." Minnie was almost crying now. "Let's go, too." Rowan felt her clinging to him, pulling at him, her endless shivering like an earthquake to his surprising calmness.

"Wait." Rowan started toward Lucy's body cautiously, trying his best not to look at her face, the face that had once been pretty. Now her features were permanently ruined. The empty, staring eyes seemed to bore into his heart, and a hole deeper even than them had been what sucked the life out of her. He had helped do this. He had helped kill someone. He had never wanted to do that, no matter how evil Lucy had been. "Maybe we can find out who she really was."

Reluctantly, Minnie followed him, looking around at anything but Lucy's body.

"Employed by Government Population Regulation Committee…" Rowan read from an ID card he'd pulled from her pocket. "Lucy Swift."

"What is that?" Minnie sounded as if she didn't really care what the answer to her question was. "Population Regulation Committee?"

"It must be because they think there are too many people." Rowan realized at once. "That's why they're killing everyone off."

"What about themselves?"

"There must be exceptions…" Rowan murmured. "Like how she said they were recommended to marry within their job."

"Couldn't there have been another way to deal with this problem?" Minnie hissed suddenly. "Expanding the cities. Taller and safer buildings. Larger streets. Maybe more people in the country. Even that wouldn't have been great, but it's still better than this. I hate this so much."

Rowan shrugged, defeated. "We aren't the government. We can't change anything."

"We can," said Minnie. "We will."

"What do you mean?" Rowan said quietly. "Lucy and Nathan can't be the only ones who do what they did."

"No," Minnie agreed. "But…" She pointed something out on Lucy's ID card. "She was the leader. Everyone is weak when their leader leaves."

"That's true, but—" He suddenly cut off, and it was obvious why. The outside bustle of the cars and people was suddenly gone. It was suddenly uncomfortable in this room, and the dead body made things creepier than ever.

Something wasn't right. It was too quiet, even for nighttime.

And Marcus was outside in the dark. If anything happened to him…

When Rowan and Minnie made their way outside, it was to a devastating scene. There were no more buildings, and the ground was smoking. In parts where the smoke was thinnest, Rowan could see pieces of land that were burned black, darker even than the shadows of night. There was no living body in their sight, though a thousand dead bodies piled on each other on the dusty ground. Puffs of flame were still lighting up bits of land all around.

_Marcus, where are you?_

"Bombed," Minnie said. "A silent bomb." She snorted. "Whoever did that has an example of what technologies we should have been looking into."

"We weren't hit. We were underground." Rowan breathed out a sigh of relief. "But people died…"

"So?" Minnie had a smile on her face, but it looked more like an evil grin. "This is our prize."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Our world is destroyed now. We can find a way to start it again, to have a new beginning. We can let people know that they've been doing all the wrong things."

"Us?" Rowan couldn't think how two people could, by themselves, raise a new civilization. "Look, the government is still in control, even though Lucy is dead."

"We can convince them. Look what happened because they were killing everyone off so young. We have no army. We can use all our people to our advantage."

"Not anymore. They were killed."

"There must be some alive that can fight this war. The government needs to stop hiding information from us. Why else would we be bombed?"

"It'll be a long shot," Rowan said.

"Take the long shot," replied Minnie. "We'll build a new world, one that will last a thousand years."

**Part Two: Crossroads**

"Is this what you imagined?" Minnie said to Rowan. They were sitting in his new office as the leader of government.

"Yeah…" He couldn't hold back a smile, grinning despite all the losses along the journey. Rowan had dropped many things along the side of his road, but he had gained much, too. This was life as it should have been.

So much had changed since nine years ago. The government had finally acknowledged that life could not go on as it had been before. Before those decrees dooming people to early death in a society based on grades, the world had been at peace. Hostility and disruption had arisen along the years, but the country had stayed stuck in time. News had stopped being broadcast, as there was no news to give. It was back now.

The overpopulation issue was in check now, too. The bomb from a mysterious source on the other side of the world, delivered by a jet-black plane, had killed everyone outside their homes in its vicinity. But there had been a fair number of people inside, too, so the country was still moderately populated. There was an average of four people per household now, verses fifteen or more before, and the huge sidewalks actually looked partially empty in the daytime. Jobs were more readily available, and high school dorm rooms were split among fewer students.

But the bomb was not like a gardener pulling excess weeds. Parents who had given away their children wondered about them now that a threat to their safety had come. Friends shed tears over their dead companions. Lives had been torn apart, and now each rip had to be carefully sewn back together.

The biggest change of all for Rowan was Marcus's death. He'd found his brother's body near the house Marcus used to share with friends on vacation from school. The bomb had wiped life away from his heart. Sometimes Rowan thought it was better that way. Maybe Marcus was better off not knowing about Lucy's betrayal, about the world as it had really been.

But that didn't mean he didn't miss him. _He'll always be my brother. I would still give myself to have him back. _

Indeed, Rowan had used Marcus as an example on the televised statement he had given to the public. _Move on. Move on, live on, and make your friends watching from heaven proud of you. _

There was one thing Rowan did not like about the government's changes. They had wanted him to take over as a ruler with his own private council, saying the original method of selecting the high school sophomore with the best grades and application essay in the whole country was trite and too traditional, and now unnecessary. Besides, now that people were living longer again, rulers could be chosen less frequently than four years.

Rowan had never wanted to be ruler. In the beginning of his reign, it was very awkward giving orders to others, and he was always afraid of making mistakes. Eventually, though, he found that he could be less worried with the direction the country was going when he was running it. He gave all the instructions, and he oversaw the rebuilding of the devastated areas. He took away the decrees encouraging parents to marry and have children young, and also the ones that sent them all to government-run boarding schools and camps until adulthood.

He brought life back to how it was several hundred years ago, before the slow overtaking of the "peaceful" old life. Rowan had always been interested in the world's history, and he knew that the old leaders of his country had done it right. People lived, people died, but it was almost always natural.

_What happened to us? _

"But there's still a lot more work to do," Minnie reminded Rowan. "We can't rest until things are how they're supposed to be."

Rowan rolled his eyes. "You never came across to me as this type of person," he remarked. And it was true. When he'd first seen Minnie, he had thought she was meek, not the type to go into action. She had certainly proved him wrong. Indeed, half the things he had done and pushed for were suggested by Minnie. Last year, when they had both been sure it was the right decision, they had gotten married.

They had both agreed on no kids until all the problems went away.

"Whatever," she smiled. "But you needed someone to push you. You're so lazy."

"What?" Rowan protested. "I am not."

A sudden bang announced the opening of the door. A bleeding, exhausted soldier clambered in.

"Fort Carillon is being attacked!" The soldier gasped. "They— they goaded the army to fight without our new technology. They're using swords."

"SWORDS? BUT WE HAVE GUNS." Rowan bellowed. "THOSE FLICKING IDIOTS."

"And shields, and bows and arrows, and—" The soldier went blabbering on until Minnie stopped him.

"Do they have a chance at all to win?" She said, rather calmly.

"No, I don't think so."

"We have to go, then." Minnie told Rowan. "Bring our backup army."

"We shouldn't risk them on a minor fort! Fort Carillon was only meant as a small watch." Rowan argued. "We might need that army if one of our major forts with supplies gets attacked while we're still halfway weak."

"Is that how to be a leader?" Minnie growled.

"I'm putting the country before the FEW PEOPLE left at that fort."

"Every person matters."

"You go, then!" Rowan spat at her. He knew she wouldn't. Whatever Minnie wanted to do, she preferred to have him with her.

"Fine." Minnie whisked around and strode out of the room. The boy, now nervous, followed her.

_What the hell? _

"Minnie, Minnie, Minnie…" Rowan murmured. "You care for everyone too much for your own good."

He had to follow her.

"Oh, it's you." Minnie looked expressionlessly at Rowan.

He kicked her.

"Come on, then, now that you're here." Minnie tossed Rowan a heavy silver sword. "I think it's a replica, not the real thing. I hope it's not blunted."

"_You expect me to fight with this?_"

She shrugged. "I don't expect you to fight. I'd like it, yes."

He punched her.

Minnie pushed him away from her. "I have our army here. I was a bit surprised the battle is still going on, but I guess we all stink at sword use. And no one brought any arrows, so…" Her voice trailed off.

"This is a _blunt sword_."

"It _may be _a blunt sword," Minnie corrected.

"You suck, you know that? You're playing with my life."

"Not if all the swords are blunt. If they are, this will be a tie. Either way, they're all the same type."

"And if they're not?"

"Then we're fighting for our country."

"Great."

"Let's go, then." Minnie said.

Still having second thoughts, Rowan followed her.

The swords weren't blunt.

Rowan wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. On the bright side, he didn't have to fight a pointless battle until he was too tired to move anymore. However, he was charging, without any sword training, into a full-fledged battle with opponents who obviously did like swords. He had no doubt that they were trained swordfighters.

Who were they, anyway? Each enemy wore a knight's armor, though they rode no horses. There was a metallic clicking of swords like his on one another, almost drowning out any other sound. But they didn't cover the sound of pained yells from men— some of whose voices Rowan recognized. He was suddenly glad and proud he had come. He couldn't have deserted his friends.

Suddenly Minnie crossed his path, swinging her sword violently at a masked enemy. She cut him in the arm, making him grunt with pain.

Soon enough, Rowan was preoccupied as well. A giant, questionably the only one without armor, was suddenly looming in front of him. It—the gender was not right away obvious—grinned down at him, cracked yellow teeth seeming to show him his death. He began shaking uncontrollably. Never in his role as leader had he thought he'd actually be in a battle. Now, about to be trapped in the clutches of the biggest of the enemy army, he would die for sure.

"Greetings." The giant spoke with a heavy, unfamiliar accent. It seemed to be a mixture of German, Australian, and French. Rowan supposed it was male, because of its voice.

"Uh…" He was still shivering with fear, unsure whether to stab the giant's toes.

"You are the leader, are you not?" He persisted.

"I am," said Rowan.

"We do not have to fight."

"I know," said Rowan, surprised. "Are you your leader?"

"No," said the big man. "I am not of this tribe."

"Well, duh," Rowan muttered to himself. "You're too huge."

"I am of a different tribe. We live a more difficult life; we grew to be stronger. My kin drove them out of their home. I did not agree. I knew they would attack another weak nation, and I wanted to prevent it. They allowed me to come with them because I was on their side in the initial war. But I still know that this band of savages does not care for the men, women, or children of others."

"We're fighting them already." Rowan gestured hopelessly around them. He was surprised no one was intervening with their talk. "We can't stop."

"I can." The other spoke reluctantly. "The truth is that I myself could have driven their whole tribe away. They were not advancing in the technologies of war and weapons, while we were."

_Sounds familiar. I'm glad we didn't meet the same end. _

"I will use my power for your nation on one condi—" He broke off at the same time Rowan swore loudly.

The man fighting with Minnie had come to them. He held her limp form by the neck in one hand.

A thousand feelings shot through Rowan. A thousand electric bolts showered over him. Minnie was dead.

But the man… He wasn't alive either. His eyes stared, and he was falling forward. _What the hell… _

Yes, he was bleeding. Had Minnie managed to give a deadly blow before he killed her?

He killed her.

The words kept repeating themselves inside his head. _He killed her. _

_He killed her._

Rowan was on the ground beside the body of the man who'd killed Minnie.

_He killed my wife._

He dug his sword tip into the body of the killer. He cut an evil-looking smiley face into the savage's back.

_Minnie is gone because of them._

He poked some freckles into his victim's face.

_Minnie is gone because of me. How could I let her come?_

He carved Minnie's initials, MP, into the body several times.

_I wish I had been the one to kill him. Minnie, you couldn't have avenged yourself._

He hacked both arms off with his sword.

_I'm going to kill them all. _

He slashed at all the parts of the face he could reach. Rowan was in a blind fury, the red rage of battle clouding his eyes. He only stopped mutilating every part of the body he could reach when a strong arm pulled him off.

"What are you doing?" The huge man still holding him growled. "This will not do any good."

When Rowan looked up, he found that he was crying. "_I'll kill every one of them for this._"

"Don't." The giant looked pained. "Let me—"

"No!" Rowan screamed. "I've had enough of this. I don't want this anymore. I want this to end. Kill me."

"I can tell I can do no more here," was his response. "Farewell."

Rowan let him go. He didn't care about anything anymore. The world could go to Hell, as far as he cared.

_This room looks so empty. _

Rowan was back in his office, sitting numb in his chair. The battle had been lost. He did not know if any of the ones who had been in the fort during the attack had survived. He himself had run away from it, crazy with misery and the loss of Minnie, the one who'd grown closer and closer to him as time went by.

_A shared history accounts for much, even if it was brief. _

They had both barely escaped from the fate that had met so many others of their age. They had emerged triumphant together.

_I wish I could bring her back. _

Minnie meant more to him than even she knew. He needed her.

_So this is what life without you is going to be like, Minnie. _

Rowan wasn't sure he wanted to be himself anymore. What did he have to lose? He suddenly wished he had not fled from the battle; he could have died in an honorable way, and still been reunited with Minnie.

_I don't want to live without her. _

The bloodstained sword lay on the rug at his feet.

_I could end it. _

It was so tempting to reach for the sword. _It's not blunt. _

Rowan held the silver blade in his hand. He wasn't scared now, like he had been before the battle. His hands were steady. But he felt far from okay. Here he lay, at a point beyond tears, beyond tantrums, beyond retrieval. He'd never be the same again.

_What's the point of loving, if this is all that will happen? I've lost Marcus and Minnie, the only people I've ever loved._

For a second, he hated Minnie for making him love her.

_It wasn't her fault._

_Yes, it was. She wanted to go. She wanted to fight._

_But she loved her country and all its people. That was what made her go._

_She should have known we could not win. The country is more important than any one person._

_The people of a country are the country._

As the voices in his head argued with each other, Rowan brought the tip of the sword to his face. He cut a small wound in his cheek, and the sharp pain brought him back to reality.

_She must have felt much worse than this before she died. And she was strong enough to kill her murderer too. _

Rowan felt a need to thank Minnie for her sacrifice. And the only way to do that was…

_I can't. She didn't give her life so I could give up. _

Because once he died, there was no going back.

_I'm not doing it. I'm not afraid to, but I can't die now. _

He put the sword down. In Minnie's honor, he needed to go on.

_I'll see you again one day. _


End file.
